


The Dance

by 0_MK



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22952143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0_MK/pseuds/0_MK
Summary: Talon wants Gérard Lacroix dead. Maximilien has an idea.
Relationships: Gérard Lacroix/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Maximilien/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	The Dance

Maximilien tugged at his cuffs, rolling his shoulders as he fixed the way his jacket sat on them. He was aware of the eyes turning in his direction as he entered the room, at the conversations that petered to a halt. 

He ignored them, pulling out his chair, and taking a seat. Again, a moment to smooth down his jacket, to fix his tie, to ensure he was immaculate. 

The chair beside him was occupied. She looked down her nose at him, all sharp angles and disdain. “Why are _you_ here? This isn’t your problem.” 

“This is an _expensive_ problem,” he said, refusing to rise to the woman’s bait with anything other than his smooth, modulated tone of voice. She would not catch him being testy. Not here, at least. “Seeing as I deal with expenses, it _is_ my problem.” 

Antonio, and his smaller shadow Vialli, laughed between themselves, their grins turning to their metallic compatriot. Maximilien inclined his head in greeting, and they returned the gesture. He pretended he did not see the woman beside him sneering, but was at least mollified that she did not try to rile him further. 

“We’re all here,” Akinjide said, his voice the same low growl it had always been. “Let’s try this one more time.” 

Maximilien folded his hands in his lap, and tapped his thumbs together. Waiting for the right moment. 

\- 

_"You’re the man in charge?”_

_Maximilien was used to people coming up to him, wanting to shake his hand, wanting to play nice, or at least wanting their flattery to matter. This felt different._

_The man was sharp-faced and keen of eye. The smile on his face was charming without the irritating edge of ingratiation. He had a drink in his hand, his tie slightly loosened, but he seemed entirely composed, more alert than anyone else in the room. And his French was impeccable._

_“I own this casino, yes,” Maximilien had said, with a soft chuckle. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, monsieur.”_

_“Well, I didn’t think I’d have the chance to introduce myself,” the man had sauntered up to clear - and then to fill - a gap in_ _Maxmilien’s_ _entourage. He casually swapped his drink to his other hand so his right was free to offer to shake. “But now that I’m here... Gérard Lacroix. Enchanté.”_

_Maximilien had idly set a routine to check the name, to see what popped up, but in the_ _meantime_ _he returned the handshake. “_ _Enchant_ _é_ _.”_

_It had been a pleasant evening._ _He’d been so charming. A man of culture, of jest, of cutting insight. They had spent the evening drinking, talking, snidely assessing everyone in the room and finding them sadly lacking. He’d brought news from Paris, news which_ _Maximilien found himself hungry for; it was one thing to be connected to every possible network, but quite another to hear personal insight. The two of them had exchanged cards, and promised to meet again. Then_ _Gérard_ _had returned to his hotel and Maximilien to the running of the casino._

_The_ _omnic_ _did not believe in serendipity. But he was content, for the time being, in not delving too deeply in the timing of_ _Gérard’s_ _arrival and introduction. A good man, after all, was hard to find._

\- 

There was a miscalculation, somewhere. He knew that now, and had the misfortune of knowing the miscalculation was entirely on his end. Not that he had any intention of confessing that here, of course. 

Snakes were so beautiful, so smooth, so sleek and charming, but they had such a sudden bite. Gérard Lacroix was a snake of a man. It was a shame he wasn’t on their side. Not that they hadn’t tried, of course, to win him over, but he was firmly – and unfortunately – in opposition. 

So here they were, sitting around a table, trying to find a way to kill him. Not for the first time, of course. Preternatural luck had saved the man from so many ‘accidents’, from all those subtle attempts on his life that had failed, from trained assassins, and even from a bomb designed to take down an entire Overwatch building on his head. It seemed the man could not be killed. 

But Maximilien owned a casino, and he knew that everyone’s luck ran out eventually. 

\- 

_What was there that they didn’t talk about? Trust was earned, conversation by conversation, as they casually and carefully examined each other. Maximilien was familiar with this dance,_ _recognising_ _that_ _Monsieur Lacroix was a shrewd businessman, in the same way that Maximilien was a brilliant accountant. That is to say, they were everything they said they were, but there was so much more to it than that._

_“I’ve heard a rumour,” Gérard murmured, at one point, as he accepted a martini from the bartender, and whispered something fascinating between sips._

_Maximilien had nursed from his whisky, and through his connections he tapped into the right networks to investigate this lead. While he undermined a particular company’s stocks by outbidding them on a particular contract, he continued his talk with Gérard, and drank together, and judged all the people in their vicinity._

_At one point, Gérard checked his phone, and gave a low whistle, impressed. A brief flash of the screen showed a poor criminal being taken away by the police. Bankruptcy. Sudden and unexpected._

_“You move quickly, Max.”_

_Maximilien had modestly given a shake of his head. “What makes you think it was me?”_

_The man had smirked, tapped their glasses together, then paid for the next round of drinks._

_“I’ve heard a r_ _umour_ _,” Maximilien said,_ _some time_ _later, as he casually betrayed one of his confidants, a low-level criminal who was behind on his repayments and would be more valuable to Talon behind bars. All without mentioning details, of course. Vagaries made the world go ‘round._

_Gérard had considered the information gravely, tsked, and shook his head at the way of the world. And then the next day, Maximilien was able to take care of Talon’s sudden panic at losing one of their assets, adapting to these little difficulties and wrinkles with impeccable calm, all without leaving his casino or abandoning the company he found he so enjoyed._

_And_ _so_ _the dance continued. Sometimes Gérard led, and Maximilien reaped a significant financial windfall. Sometimes Maximilien led, and Gérard just smiled as the world changed behind him. It was power and control, and it was intoxicating to find someone who could dance as well as he could._ _Someone with such raw intellect and ruthlessness, even enough to rival his own. Delightful._

_There was plenty of give and take, with Maximilien swapping cigars for French cigarettes, adopting more human mannerisms and gestures, buying upgrades that subtly mimicked the man he admired, and with Gérard leaving Saville Row for the Italian designers_ _favoured_ _by Maximilien, taking a greater liking to stronger liquors, and even learning to play poker._ _Maximilien_ _was delighted to find someone who understood and could share insights into the fact that it was not just about being rich, but having taste and class. He_ _found himself letting_ _Gérard take the lead more and more often._

_It takes two to tango. But if you change your partner..._

\- 

Maximilien made a sound like the clearing of his throat. The discussion around him did not falter, but he spoke up anyway, even talking over the woman beside him in order to be heard. 

“I have an idea that I believe would have some consideration, if I may.” 

\- 

_“I’m sorry, my friend, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to join you this week.”_

_“Oh? You’ve never tried to bow out before. Tell me, to what or whom am I playing second fiddle?”_

_“My wife is performing at the Palais Garnier this we_ _ekend.”_

_"Ah, of course. One day I must meet this magnificent woman you keep boasting of,_ _Gérard.”_

_"I think I like to keep some things to myself, my friend.”_

_He had laughed, politely, and the conversation had moved to future plans, and to Paris, and to the same kind of conversations they had always had. Over drinks, and holdings, and wealth, and those who were beneath them._

_But on the weekend, Maximilien flew to Paris, and took a seat in a vantage point where Gérard would not see_ _hi_ _m._ _Gérard’s attention was fixed on the stage, in any case. And, soon, so was Maximilien’s._

_All of Gérard’s boasts paled in comparison to the real thing. She was magnificent. And she accepted only the bouquet from her husband, smiled only when she met his gaze, or felt it on her._

_Maximilien had never found anything he couldn’t afford. Until now._

\- 

A casino was a singular place. Engineered precisely to ensure the house always won. There was a particular level of oxygen pumped through the vents kept the people alert and trusting, smiling even as they gave all their money away. The lights were set at a particular dimness to encourage dilated pupils and extended eye-contact. And the music, played softly through the speakers, pulsed with a frequency just below the audible range. Particularly when Maximilien was near, when the sub-sonic frequencies pulsed from his workings that made human psyches sway, that made everyone fall under his spell. 

Except Gérard. 

The house would always win, that was a fact. But every now and then, someone would cheat. 

There was a day Maximilien couldn’t remember clearly. Data corrupted or expunged. He’d been played for a fool, and it rather cast the whole affair in a sorry light. 

Maximilien fought the urge to touch the port at the back of his neck. The damaged portion had been hidden and secured months ago, but he still felt something of an itch there when the pressure was on. And there was pressure now, as all eyes in the room turned to him, as he almost quailed under the weight of the secret failure that had infuriated him for months. 

“We are going about this all wrong,” he said, in the same soft, even tone he was known for, that voice that could become comforting and hypnotic if you let it, if he made it so. His hands were still in his lap, thumbs tapping, as he fought to keep the mannerisms he had learned from Gérard in check. “The man is too smart, too careful, too in-control. Our usual methods will not suffice. As I am sure you have noticed,” he added, in such a way that it suggested the turn of phrase was embarrassing, as though he hesitated, hated, to embarrass his colleagues. 

The figures in the shadows all had their own opinions. The woman beside him was icy in her silence. His Italian brothers-in-bonds looked him over, shrewd and considering, trying to figure out the omnic’s angle. Akinjide just looked impatient. 

Maximilien tapped his thumbs together, then forced them to still, to be in control. “Every man has a weakness. He is a soldier, and a spy, and a thief, but he is untouchable. To us, at least, because we don’t understand his weakness.” 

“Omnic,” Akinjide growled. “Get to the point.” 

Maximilien nodded, but still allowed himself a moment to savour it all. “I think,” he said, with the air of a man setting down a winning hand, card by card, “We should make ourselves an assassin he won’t see coming, one he’ll welcome with open arms. I can guarantee you that this time, we will not fail.” 

\- 

_He watches her through the glass, as she shudders and wails. Shivering from the freezing water, screaming in the dark that terrifies her. Once or twice she calls Gérard’s name. But more often she simply asks ‘why’ and sobs when there is no answer._

_Behind the glass, Maximilien watches her, the seven pips on his head flickering in a slow, patient rhythm, lighting the shadows in red. The sub-sonic sounds emitted from his core weave through her panic, and he familiarises herself with her mind. Settling in there, and re-writing her from the inside out. Teaching her to listen, to obey, to swallow down her will and become something fearsome and powerful, something she never thought she would be._

_It is so painful to break such a beautiful creature. But he can afford to, because when this is over, there won’t be anyone else for her to belong to._

_He finds her dream of spiders, and draws it out of her like webbing._

\- 

“Bring me Amélie Lacroix,” he told the council, “I will do the rest.” 


End file.
